


Mr Bad Example

by FayJay



Category: Angel The Series, Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-05
Updated: 2009-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Lex Luthor takes a drive out of town in search of entertainment less wholesome than that afforded by the Beanery, and Lindsey McDonald understands him entirely too well.</p><p>Set just after <i>Jitters</i> (SV Season 1) and after Lindsey's departure from Wolfram and Hart (AtS Season 2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lex had been spending a lot of time in The Beanery lately. Not that there was anything wrong with the coffee his housekeeper made - as it happened, the quality of the beans in the coffee shop was rather inferior to that at the castle. He wasn't really going there for the coffee, though; nor for the ambience, such as it was. He had the grace to laugh a little at his calculatedly 'man of the people' routine; being seen drinking coffee alongside his employees and their children was perhaps a little heavy-handed, but it was one more little detail that distinguished him from Lionel. And there could never, ever, be too many little details like that.

Besides, Lex was trying to play nice, and Smallville was very - well, _small_. He could adjust to anything, but it was still one hell of a culture shock to exchange the comparative anonymity of Metropolis for the curtain-twitching parochialism of this dusty little town where every single person knew his name and was waiting for something to gossip about. Lex didn't much relish having his private life genuinely made public, so nights of casual oblivion spent in clubs engaged in any of his more hedonistic hobbies was reserved for the occasional weekend back in Metropolis. The paparazzi could be a mild irritation, but for the most part they were easily manipulated into reporting his more vanilla Prince Hal antics with vicarious glee. And besides, in Metropolis he was already yesterday's news. In Smallville, however, the gossip was spread by word of mouth, which was far more difficult to control; there he was yesterday's news, today's news and tomorrow's news. So in Smallville Lex indulged in nothing more outrageous than Columbia's second-finest export; and he confined his sex-life, such as it was these days, to the bedroom.

Of course, it was also true that the chances of bumping into Clark Kent in an actual bar were less than zero, since he was too young to legally buy beer, among other things; and Lex liked bumping into Clark Kent. It was just conceivable that this might have had something to do with the frequency of his trips to The Beanery. Seducing the wide-eyed poster child for Mom's apple pie was unbelievably tempting; but even though the image of Clark writhing under him had started to wander into his brain at the most inappropriate moment, he was well aware that it would be rank stupidity. He had to work quite hard to remember this at times, but he knew that it would be rank stupidity. And perhaps something worse.

Perversely, in his heart of hearts Lex _didn't_ want to seduce Clark Kent at all. The very thought of Clark being just another pretty fuck hurt him as much as it turned him on. Entirely against his will he found himself (oh, how his father would laugh, how he laughed himself at the stupid vulnerability of it) cherishing Clark Kent, heartfelt platitudes and all. He genuinely wanted to live up to the dumb idealism almost as much as he wanted to take Clark - pretty Clark with his impossibly innocent eyes, his ludicrous uncertainty, his Dudley Do-Right pugnacity, his guileless smile like a poem to orthodontia and clean living and his sweet, sweet mouth so very clearly designed by the god of blowjobs - and break him.

Clark Kent fucked with his head. This worried him far more than the prospect of being caught in a hayloft with his dick buried up to the hilt in a criminally beautiful flannel-wrapped fifteen year old - after all, that's what money was for. But Clark Kent fucked with his head and wrecked his objectivity; Clark Kent cut quite effortlessly through all his defences; and Clark Kent was also, quite definitely, lying to him. So right now Clark Kent was firmly off the menu, along with Columbia's finest export and all the other treats that had once enlivened his evenings in Metropolis. Lex was playing nice.

But there was no harm in window shopping, so Lex had been spending a lot of time in The Beanery lately.

After a day like today, however, The Beanery was the last place he wanted to be. He was still, impossibly, alive - thanks once again to his very own personal saviour, and in spite of both Fate and his father. His own heroic gesture had come to nothing; far from saving Clark's life he had found himself once more being scooped up out of danger at the last of all possible moments. His head was crammed with questions and he knew with perfect certainty that no answers would be forthcoming from either Lionel or Clark; no explanation of the research on Level 3 that had caused this day's debacle; no explanation of how the hell Clark Kent had managed to keep both Lex and Earl Jenkins from falling to their deaths.

Lex had watched numbly as Lionel's helicopter briskly lifted his father back out of his life and Earl, that poor poisoned bastard, had vanished into an ambulance amidst sirens and police. He had watched as Clark and his excruciatingly devoted parents had piled into their truck and returned to their farm; and his whole body had been one vast, humiliating ache at the sight of the knot of tenderness binding Clark's little family. The loneliness, which he barely let himself notice most of the time, was scorching. He tried to muster contempt for their Little House on the Prairie naivety and found himself feeling nothing but emptiness as he shook hands and smiled and reassured and made charming and modest noises as seemed appropriate. When the last reporter finally departed Lex was left alone with a shaky awareness that he had come within a hair's breadth of a meaningless death and that he was unlikely ever to know why.

Back at the castle he showered and changed and finally went downstairs and stared at the battered Porsche for a long time. He should be dead several times over; and Clark Kent, for whom he had been willing - almost relieved - to sacrifice his own life today, was still lying to him.

It had been one of the most frustrating and quietly soul-destroying days Lex had enjoyed in recent history, and he needed a fucking drink. Not a latte, not a mocha, not an espresso or a frappuccino; a proper drink. And not here. He found that he simply couldn't stand another minute in this towering monument to Lionel Luthor's wealth. But nor was this the night to go investigating the bars of Smallville, where he would inevitably find himself fending off the suspicion or the grudging gratitude of the townspeople.

So as the last vestiges of daylight faded from the sky, he picked a car at random, pointed it away from Smallville and still further away from Metropolis and just drove.

* * * 

Lindsey noticed the kid immediately. Hell, everyone noticed the kid immediately. The scream of brutalised tyres burning to a halt outside Mae's Bar had been more than loud enough to carry over the muted sound of Warren Zevon on the juke box and the murmur of the weary Wednesday night crowd, and drinkers near the windows were already craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the driver and the car. He watched the pale, anonymous shape swimming swiftly out of the darkness and felt a little feather of curiosity himself. Leather-coated fingertips steepled against the glass panel and splayed like dark petals unfurling from a tiny circle of bare skin as they pushed the door open. Driving gloves, of all things; Lindsey found himself noticing people's hands a lot more than he used to.

The newcomer was young in spite of his incongruous baldness -- and very familiar. Lindsey felt a quick flicker of puzzled recognition before his memory supplied the name: Lex Luthor. He hadn't actually met Luthor or his son, but he was vaguely aware that Lionel had done business with Wolfram and Hart in the past. There had been some screw up a dozen years earlier that was still talked about in hushed tones. Lindsey was hazy on the details, but he had an idea that some prophecy had been misinterpreted rather spectacularly to general embarrassment, which had led to the liquidation, in a very literal sense, of the department responsible.

He wondered, a little absently, whether Lilah were dead yet.

More mundanely, Lionel's son had decorated enough tabloids over the past few years to be instantly recognisable: "Hair Apparent", "Lex Education", "The Joy of Lex", "Lex Drive" -- the papers had a field day making up captions for a stream of pictures of Lionel's playboy heir at clubs and premieres, enjoying the manifold delights of fast cars and faster women. And of course there was always gossip about the other pictures and stories that were never printed; the pills and powders and pretty boys, and other less palatable things. The usual stuff, in other words -- but nothing particularly demonic, as far as Lindsey was aware.

The kid was thoroughly out of context in this spit and sawdust setting, but Lindsey felt only the mildest surprise once he had identified the face to his own satisfaction -- after all, he knew there was a plant over in Smallville and other LutherCorp interests scattered around Kansas. For that matter, Lindsey would only have been mildly surprised if a Kankanath demon had pulled up at Mae's and stomped in hoping for a quick glass of Yak's bile en route to a spot of pillaging. He was well aware that life was a lot more like the pages of The National Enquirer than most people ever realised.

When Lex strolled into the bar other faces turned to him as inevitably as plants drawn towards sunlight, eyes widening slightly. Maybe not all of them recognised him, but the baldness and the expensive clothes were sufficiently out of place to attract attention in and of themselves. Most of the other drinkers probably didn't guess quite how expensive the understated sweater was, but Lindsey had a pretty fair idea that Old Man Jenkins could have bought a new tractor and had change to spare with the money it had cost to clothe Lionel Luthor's son this evening.

He took in the casual ease with which Lex crossed the room, so sublimely sure of himself and his right to be there that he made the regulars seem out of place; and Lindsey found himself battling a sudden and visceral surge of resentment. No bargains with the devil for young Lex Luthor; he had received his power and privilege on a silver platter. No shitty menial jobs while he was working his way through school. Lex Luthor was the apple of his daddy's eye, and his daddy was richer than God. Smug little bastard.

Lindsey was finding the road to redemption a little more frustrating than he'd hoped; but he wouldn't go back to Wolfram and Hart for any money, of this he was certain. Almost certain. He sure didn't pine for the omnipresent threat of becoming dogfood or dragonbait, or the slow-burning sense of despair that coloured his every waking moment. Or the nightmares. Definitely not the nightmares.

But he did miss the buzz. And the chance to flex his thinking muscles -- Christ, he really missed that. Lindsey was too damn smart for his own good, that's what his daddy used to say; and maybe his daddy hadn't been so far wrong after all. Look where being smart had gotten him. He was starting to suspect that dumb people were the only happy ones in this world.

"Same again, Mac?"

Mae's familiar voice cut through his reverie and Lindsey glanced down at the melting slivers of ice at the bottom of his empty glass with some surprise. Christ, he was getting maudlin. Screw that. Lindsey had his freedom and the use of both hands again, and everything else was just frosting on the cake. And if he told himself this often enough he might just believe it.

"Mae, darlin', how could I resist you? Just one problem..." Lindsey's voice trailed away wistfully as he peered up at her through lowered lashes, exercising a little of the easy charm that had always undone female jurors and always deserted him around Darla. Mae's eyebrows shot up and she pushed a few strands of greying auburn hair out of her face with a stern expression. He gave her his most disarming little-boy-lost look and watched the dimple quiver in her cheek as she fought off a grin.

"No money left, eh? Now don't you go trying any of your tricks on me, Lindsey McDonald -- I'm old enough to be your mama and I've got two boys just as charming as you back home. Pouting won't do you one whit of good." She laughed at his comically tragic expression and relented, as he'd known she would. "Ah, go on with you. Just the one, then, and you can pay me Friday."

Lindsey beamed at her. Life wasn't so bad. He spared a brief thought for the liquid assets he'd managed to transfer into an offshore account before leaving Wolfram and Hart, and reminded himself that he could still tap into it at any time if he wanted to. He didn't think they were hunting him -- if there'd been a price on his head he very much doubted he'd still have a head at this point -- and it was all his own money, legally earned in the practice of law and paid for in blood and sweat and tears. Some of which had even been his own. Nevertheless he was trying to get by without touching the damned money and he'd been managing just fine so far.

"I'll get it."

Lindsey's mouth thinned. The cocky little fucker. He counted to five in his head and when he looked up his expression was unreadable, a perfect courtroom mask. Up close Lex Luthor looked both younger and slighter than his demeanour implied. The swagger seemed automatic, almost unthinking; he wore his sense of privilege like a second skin.

"I.D?"

Mae, Lindsey was perfectly sure, recognised Lex Luthor from her glossy magazines. Nevertheless she fixed the kid with a steely glare and lifted one auburn eyebrow pointedly. He was a little surprised at the courtesy with which Lex produced a driver's licence from his back pocket, wriggling gracefully to reach it in a way that Lindsey appreciated in spite of himself. He found himself wondering whether the stuff about pretty boys was true. Mae made a big deal of checking the licence thoroughly, but Lex's patience never faltered. The mildness of his smile was disarming.

"I hope everything's in order?" he asked. Mae nodded with some reluctance and passed the licence back over the bar. He smiled again. "In that case I'll have a double vodka, if you'd be so kind. And let me pay for this gentleman's drink. Will you have something yourself, ma'am?"

The "ma'am" was what swung it. Lindsey watched it go straight to Mae's head and knew it would be the talk of the town the next day that a multi-millionaire had called her "ma'am", but he strongly suspected that Lex was being ironic. The kid's eyes were glittering dangerously and Lindsey, accustomed to noting the tiniest nuances of expression and posture in his witnesses and jurors, had the feeling that he was just barely keeping a whole heap of emotions in check. Which was interesting.

"Thanks," Lindsey said. Lex turned to him at last and the look on his face answered one question straight away -- clearly Lionel's baby boy wasn't exclusively a ladies' man. He could feel the eyes of the rest of the room fixed disapprovingly on the two of them and felt an unexpected impulse to shock these sleepy Kansas farmers. They thought a bald kid with a trust fund was weird? They thought Lex Luthor was the height of corporate wickedness? They had no fucking idea. Lindsey suddenly wished that he could take these placid red-necks and introduce them to some of Wolfram and Hart's less Maeubrious clientele. He licked his lips thoughtfully. Virtue was all well and good, but it was also really fucking boring.

He lifted the fresh glass of bourbon to his mouth and swallowed, his eyes never leaving Lex's.

* * * 

"To what do we owe the honour, Mr Luthor?"

Lex's shoulders stiffened infinitesimally, but his expression never altered. Mr Luthor. So much for anonymity. Damn.

"I was thirsty," he replied, smiling blandly into a pair of eyes that were nothing at all like Clark's and wondering whether to pick him up anyway. The guy wore jeans and a flannel shirt -- a pedestrian combination that Lex found himself depressingly attracted to these days -- but there all similarities to Clark Kent definitely ended. Certainly he was clean and pretty, but he was also small and fair and, blessedly, well past high school age. And he looked like he worked out; although in this part of the world that probably just meant he worked outdoors. Eminently fuckable, in short; but he knew who Lex was, which put a slightly different spin on things. He'd been looking for a quick fix, not a kiss'n'tell story in the local paper.

He knocked back the rest of his drink in one smooth motion and felt the hick watching his Adam's Apple with a half-smile that went straight to his cock. Perhaps there were worse things. After the events of the day Lex was finding it increasingly difficult to give a shit about bad publicity.

"Could I get another vodka?" He smiled sweetly at the woman behind the bar and then glanced to his right. "And another of whatever -- " (a pause and a quizzical look which prompted another unreadable smile and a name) "Lindsey is drinking. Thank you." He bit his lip and thought about how Lindsey's mouth would taste and wondered whether it would be anything like enough. Tried hard not to think about Clark and felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. "Lindsey?" he repeated with amused precision. "Interesting name."

"You can talk. Lex."

"Touché." It was the damnedest thing; Lindsey recognised him, but didn't seem particularly impressed. Lex was fairly used to being recognised by the little people and he was accustomed to practicing the ancient art of noblesse oblige in these circumstances. He was less accustomed to meeting people who knew who he was but didn't give a damn; and Lindsey was doing a pretty good impression of not giving a damn right now. He felt very slightly off-balance and found it unexpectedly difficult to tell whether Lindsey was actually flirting with him or not. Probably not -- because what were the odds of striking lucky first time in this grubby little temple to WASP heterosexuality? And yet the Laws of Probability seemed to be in abeyance where Lex Luthor was concerned of late.

"So what do you do around here to entertain yourselves?" The look on his face should have left Lindsey in no doubt of his interest, but frustratingly it solicited nothing more committal than a friendly smile with the merest suggestion of something more.

"This is pretty much it. I'm just passing through. Been working here for a couple weeks now and this is about as exciting as it gets on a Wednesday night."

There was a pause in which Lex found his patience melting clean away. What was he doing in a place like this? He should have just stayed at home and taken a bottle of brandy to bed. It was his home, at least for now, even if every inch of the place was imprinted with his father's personality. (A Scottish castle in Kansas. Christ.) Or he could have gone to Metropolis. He should have gone to Metropolis.

"Excuse me just a moment, would you?" he murmured, all smooth courtesy and practiced ease. He slid down off the bar stool and headed for the washroom, not at all certain of whether he actually wanted Lindsey to follow him. He was hitting on a total stranger in a dusty little bar in the middle of nowhere, under the noses of half the population of this no-Starbucks town. This wasn't just sordid, it was pathetic -- the perfectly hideous end to a perfectly hideous day. His self-destructive tendencies really had gone into overdrive quite spectacularly. Lex wasn't drunk enough to think that fucking in the john in this dump was anything remotely like a good idea, but the vodka was singing in his bloodstream and he was fresh out of good ideas.

As it happened, Lindsey didn't follow him. So much for that. He took a leisurely piss, buttoned his fly and washed his hands (Lex was appalled by how few people washed their hands) and was rubbing them together under the dryer and staring bleakly at his reflection in the fly-blown glass when two men came in behind him. He glanced at them idly in the mirror and then took in their body language. Lex suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

* * * 

Lindsey watched the kid stroll into the john and wondered whether he was expected to follow. He wouldn't have thought this was Lex Luthor's style. The prospect of scandalising the bar with a bout of noisy no-holds-barred hot monkey sex in the confines of the tiny little room was actually quite tempting, but he was in the mood for something a little more -- prolonged. Clearly the kid was used to running the show, but Lindsey was damned if he was letting any spoiled twenty-one-year-old tell him what to do after all the shit he'd gone through. If there was one thing Lindsey was good at spotting, it was vulnerability; and right now Lex Luthor needed him more than he needed Lex Luthor. It was a heady sensation and he intended to savour it at his leisure. Possibly with the assistance of handcuffs.

He was really going to enjoy hearing Lex Luthor beg.

But the thought of Lex on his expensively-clad knees in the john, with Lindsey's hands (he shuddered at that detail; who knew that Angel would have supplied him with this particular new kink?) on that obscenely naked scalp and Lindsey's cock in his mouth was almost enough to break this resolve. Fuck. His pants were very definitely too tight right now.

He noticed Ted and Marvin lumbering over to the john, but he didn't think anything of it at first. He knew them to nod to, nothing more. It was the expression on Mae's face that was the giveaway; she looked guilty as hell and kept glancing over at the door and shooting him furtive glances.

"Mae, is there something I should know?" he asked at last. She bit her lip and frowned nervously.

"Look, I don't want trouble, Mac. You know that. I just -- Ted really hates LuthorCorp. Reckons it made his sister sick when she worked over at the Smallville plant, or some stuff like that -- load of bull, but he's got a real bee in his bonnet about the Luthors. I don't think he'd do anything stupid, but --"

Oh, shit.

He slid off the stool and made his way to the men's room, feeling a little pang of guilt at not having realised immediately something was amiss and, above and beyond it, a thrill of adrenaline. This was more like it. Christ, he'd been bored.

Lex hadn't realised he had so much rage in him. Ted and Marvin most certainly hadn't realised he had so much rage in him and they were both looking very much less sure of themselves after their initial lunge had proved less successful than anticipated. There was a tiny impasse, while the two men gawped at Lex. He grinned back savagely, nostrils flaring and eyes icy with sheer, righteous fury. Who the fuck did they think they were dealing with?

When they both came at him this time it was more cautiously and Ted was hanging back and snivelling, his face a rictus of childish agony as blood poured in a satisfying stream from his broken nose. Lex noticed with distaste that they stank of cheap beer and cigarettes. Another sleazy olfactory assault to mingle with the acrid reek of urine and remind him forcibly that he was slumming it tonight.

He threw himself at Marvin, energy uncoiling deliciously to block the clumsy blow, and slammed his ungloved fist into the guy's unprotected face. The impact was raw and audible -- far messier than pounding a punch bag and less elegant than sparring with Heike but more viscerally satisfying than either. For once he hadn't tried to talk his way out of things, hadn't even asked what it was about or considered what angle to play. Today he didn't give a shit what it was about. Vodka notwithstanding, he found himself hyperaware of his surroundings and it was inexpressibly sweet to let fly like this. Knowing that it was permissible; knowing that it was self defence. Each jolt ran through him, setting up a ragged rhythm like a silent little mantra of wrath to drown out the clamour of unanswered questions in his head. He didn't know whether it was Clark or Lionel or himself he was most furious with. Certainly it wasn't these bovine attackers whose convenient blood was splattering his sweater and the mirror.

Just for a little while Lex had decided to let himself lay down all that rigid control. It was bliss.

Lindsey nearly tripped over Ted as he barrelled into the room. The guy was doubled up and whimpering and cradling one arm, blood gushing from his nose to soak through his shirt. That was -- unexpected. He glanced across the room and took in the surprising sight of Lex Luthor trying quite seriously to beat the living shit out of Marvin. And succeeding. Lindsey started towards them but then paused. Looked like Lionel's son was handling himself pretty competently. For all that Marvin was a bigger guy, he was also very drunk and his heart clearly wasn't in it. Lex had him wholly psyched out.

Lindsey leaned back against the cold wall and silently watched Lex Luthor unleashing his pent-up energy. He knew what it was like to be matched against a larger opponent and he recognised the single-minded ferocity of the attack with a pang of sympathy. Something in the quality of the anger reminded him of LA. He tried to pin it down and incongruously, unwelcomely, he was reminded of Darla talking about Angelus. Lindsey scowled, and tried very hard to ignore the urgent rush of blood to his groin. He clenched the muscles in his ass, felt his erection shift against the denim and shivered as he watched Lex pummelling his opponent. The kid was slightly built, but he was wiry enough; Lindsey thought about peeling back the sweater and tracing the muscles that flexed and shifted under the pale skin, and his cock jumped automatically. He was getting wet here.

"Fuck this," panted Marvin shakily, the words shockingly loud in the silence, and he turned tail and fled past Lindsey, leaving Lex suddenly bereft and blinking. Ted scrambled to his feet and limped out the door in stumbling pursuit. The two of them were alone.

Lindsey watched the kid automatically compose himself and wondered just what the hell would make the crown prince of LuthorCorp so damned tense all the time. Lex squared his shoulders and his blue eyes met Lindsey's like a slap. He brushed the back of his hand over his smooth brow, gathering up beads of sweat and wiping them carelessly on the bloodstained sweater, looking very young and very tired and perfectly ready to take on the rest of the world regardless.

"I don't. Need. Saving," Lex said crisply, nostrils flaring, daring Lindsey to contradict him. Lindsey considered this statement briefly.

"Good. I don't want to save you." He crossed the space between them in two swift paces, shoved Lex up against the wall and thrust his tongue straight down his throat. Felt the deceptively slight body tense against his and then a heartbeat later slender fingers were clutching his ass with gratifying urgency and pulling him in closer. He ground his pelvis up against Lex's thigh, relishing the familiar pressure of another cock shuddering against his own erection, then slid his hand up under the soft grey fabric of the sweater and shivered at the smoothness of the skin beneath his fingers. Considered fucking Lex raw up against the wall right here and the image made him moan into the wet tangle of tongues, but he pulled back for a moment, resting his forehead against the perfectly soft skin of Lex Luthor's scalp. He wanted to see Lex naked.

"Why don't you take me for a spin in your fancy car?" he suggested, his voice hoarse. Felt the newly familiar shape of the face realign itself into an unseen smile against his cheek.

"I've been drinking," Lex pointed out, a breathless curl of laughter colouring the words. "Do you trust me to drive safely?"

"_Hell_, no -- I trust you to drive fast."


	2. Splendid Isolation

Lex Luthor drove like a maniac.

Clouds thickened the night sky, obscuring the distant moon and stars to leave the land in welcome darkness. Mae's Bar was already far behind them, the last lonely street light a distant memory as they hurtled recklessly down the quiet highway. Lindsey's eyes could pick out only the faintest shapes beyond the twin beams of the Jag's dazzling headlights. After a while he let the world go and instead fixed his attention on the pale profile of the kid behind the wheel.

Lex was smiling, a smug little curve of the lips that made Lindsey catch his breath and think untender thoughts. He remembered the smoothness of the bare scalp under his palm and found himself almost regretting the impulse that had made him drag things out like this. Sense memory of Luthor's body pinned against the cold metal of the car behind Mae's, living flesh hard and warm and lithe under him, biting his mouth, pulling his hair. Bristling with desperate energy and need that he was trying to disguise as want, as a whim. Lindsey didn't know what was going on with the kid, but he knew about nights like these and he could see that Lex Luthor needed - something. Anything. A fuck, a fix, a rush into oblivion. Lindsey had gauged the situation and enjoyed the sweet surge of power he felt when he stepped away, leaving Lex suddenly touching nothing but cold air and chilly metal.

"I thought we were driving?" he'd said coolly, and watched Lex slip instantly behind his shell again. "Your place or mine?" And he'd felt quite certain that Lex Luthor had no intention of taking any bit of rough trade back home to whatever designer bachelor pad he had driven away from tonight, but he also knew his own strength at this moment, because he had nothing at stake and Lex quite evidently did. Unleashed his most sinful smile and bent forward again to kiss Lex; slow and wet and lingering and filthy, sucking on the kid's tongue like it was his cock. Pulled away once more and heard Lex's ragged breathing betray him. Lindsey waited, still smiling.

"Yours," Lex had replied with a shrug, sounding almost perfectly casual; but Lindsey wasn't fooled. At this moment he owned Lex Luthor. The knowledge hung in the air between them and as a result Lex was driving like a lunatic in a transparent attempt to impress him or intimidate him. Like he thought he was in the Grand Prix. Like he thought he couldn't die.

After the first automatic clench of muscles when Lex had floored the pedals and sent them screaming away from Mae's, Lindsey had consciously relaxed. No way he was going to give the cocky little bastard the satisfaction of winning this particular war of nerves. The kid wanted to unsettle him. It was a pissing contest, simple as that; and Lindsey knew he shouldn't rise to it, but he never could resist this kind of daring. He sprawled bonelessly in the seat in an pose of exaggerated relaxation, gave terse directions to his motel and then watched the kid's face while he drove, enjoying the smoothness of the brow. Nothing Neanderthal about this profile. His own smile widened.

"Nice car," he said, theatrically stifling a yawn. Lindsey remembered the intoxication of first stepping into a car like this, years ago: the upholstery with its lovely new-car smell, its lovely dollars-in-the-bank, success-and-recognition smell. It was astonishing how quickly he'd become blas about Porsches and Jaguars and chauffeur-driven limousines; the sheer ubiquity of luxury had rendered it almost redundant.

"I suppose you have a big, manly truck?" said Lex in a mocking tone that betrayed the tiniest hint of pique. "A red one?" He pressed a little harder on the gas and the car surged faster into the darkness. Lindsey only smiled. Lex Luthor liked to live a little dangerously, or thought that he did.

"Yeah. Pretty much." He watched a patronising smirk curl the corner of Lex's mouth again and spared a thought for the classic Ford languishing outside Mae's. Now that was a vehicle worth cherishing. "So is this the best she can do?" A tiny lick of pity in his voice and Luthor's smile wavered, surprised into a laugh. He floored the gas and Lindsey felt gravity pressing him that little bit harder back into the seat.

* * * 

Lex loved the way it responded to his touch; clichd as hell, but there was nothing like driving a brand new sports car down an empty road at breakneck speed. Lex Luthor liked being wealthy. He also found himself unwillingly half-liking Lindsey, whose nonchalance amused and provoked him in equal measure. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Lex didn't need or want to like some cheap pick up whose chief appeal lay in his availability and he didn't want to know anything about the mind behind the pretty faade selected for its lack of innocence. Lindsey was not a tall fifteen year old with an incandescent smile and lying green eyes, and that was all that mattered right now. Lex didn't care how the man liked his eggs or how he'd voted in the last election. Didn't particularly want to know his name, come to that.

In Metropolis it would have been the easiest thing in the world to lose himself for a night; he could have found relief in any of a score of clubs or saunas, or just logged on to his computer and picked out a pretty buff young thing or two or three, all more than ready to come and go at the drop of a line. No-strings sex in the sticks was a little trickier, but he'd surprised himself with how simple it had been after all.

Still, in spite of appearances, Lindsey McDonald didn't quite fit in with Lex's idea of Kansas farmers. There was something slightly - off.

Christ, he was really seeing mysteries everywhere.

This was just the sort of shit that Lionel would expect of him - dear God, he was so predictable. Still, he could have made a call, easy as breathing, and had oblivion delivered to his door within the hour; he could have lost himself and his emptiness with a surge of something costly in his veins or in his lungs, something dissolving against a membrane or melting on his tongue. He could have swallowed his pride and his questions and borrowed the comfort of Lethe with something brown or white or candy-coloured to knit up the ravelled sleeve of care, at least for a little while. It would have been perilously easy; but he wanted to know he could go without, wanted to be sure that this indulgence remained a choice, not a necessity.

For months now he hadn't clouded his brain with anything stronger than Napoleon Brandy or single malt Scotch. Not for Clark. It wasn't for Clark. He was in love with the slow unfurling of his autonomy, was revelling in the sense of power that came with his new existence. Control. At long, long last he was governing his own life and he had a little blessed space to think and plan and practice for the future. This was its own intoxication.

But after this day he needed -- Christ, he needed something. He kept seeing Earl Jenkins. Seeing his father. Seeing Clark. Lex could still taste the certainty of death in the back of his throat and remembered, fearfully, the strange relief he had felt at surrendering to it. He remembered the bloom of pure horror when he'd heard Clark's voice over the speaker and knew the boy was trapped in the building with him after all -- knew that he had failed to protect the only thing that mattered in the end.

So here he was hours later, with a stranger in his car and the quick lick of alcohol fading from his veins, hurtling down quiet roads at something like escape velocity.

"Fast enough?" He flicked a glance at his passenger. Lindsey didn't seem at all disconcerted by their headlong rush into the darkness and Lex felt a twinge of irritation.

The car veered only a trifle when Lindsey's hand found his thigh and Lex bucked up off the seat, his legs one long, sweet line of tension arching from the small of his back to the feet jammed to the gas and to the floor. Lex inhaled sharply and took his eyes off the road long enough to see Lindsey's shadowy face inscribed with a smile of pure challenge.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Lex asked, his level tone shot through with dryness as unfamiliar fingers traced a leisurely path over the taut fabric. He shivered at the delicate brush of a blunt nail trailing along the pants seam at his inner thigh.

Ah, shit, that was --

"Do you care?" The low voice, sweet and rough with some Southern accent, dared him to slow down or object. Lindsey slid his hand higher, cupping the eager bulge speculatively. Lex bit his bottom lip hard and stared out at the segment of the road visible in his headlights. "You'd better not go making my hand angry," added Lindsey with lazy merriment. "You won't like it when it's angry." Lex was still trying to come up with an appropriate response to this bizarre remark when he felt a tug at his sweater and warm skin brushed against his belly, tracing the curve of bones and musculature and wringing another ragged half-laugh from him. Lindsey's hands were softer than he'd expected and the pressure of the thumb circling his navel made him shiver. His gloved hands tightened on the wheel.

Lindsey McDonald leaned in closer, fingers possessively resting on belly and thigh. "Don't slow down," he said, before ducking his head under Lex's outstretched arm. In no time at all the button and zipper were dealt with, layers of fabric were peeled away and Lex could feel warm breath tickling his erection.

An almost unbearable pause while Lex waited for the wet pressure of lips or tongue and felt only the inadequate caress of a whisper of breath against the blood-heavy skin. He wondered for one instant of frustrated hilarity whether he had picked up the only man in the world who took the term 'blowjob' literally, and then a wet finger slid along the underside of his cock as a prelude to the necessary brush of Lindsey's hard tongue circling the little slit and licking the liquid that dewed the tip. His cock jumped under the practiced touch and Lex let out a helpless little groan of pure need as he bucked in the seat. As if he'd been waiting for this cue, Lindsey's mouth closed wetly over the swollen head and the jolt of suction as his tongue flickered in sticky exploration was absolutely fucking perfect.

Lex bit down on his lip until he tasted blood and his back arched automatically as Lindsey licked a rough and ready pattern on the underside of his cock. This wasn't -- oh fuck, yes, like that -- this wasn't who he was now, wasn't who he was trying to be; this was the kind of dumb hedonistic shit he used to pull in Metropolis. Not now, not since -- ah, Christ -- not since he'd taken charge of his life. Not since Clark gave him his life. Not since Clark. Lex clung to the steering wheel as if his sanity depended on it and stared blindly through the glass, his whole attention centred on the sweet wet friction against his cock. He wanted this, precisely this, but it felt like falling. Felt like taking off the flak jacket and stepping into the line of fire, felt like the shock of freefall when the metal walkway gave beneath his feet. Felt like --

And then there were fingers pinching the base of his erection and the slick pressure was suddenly gone.

"You. Bastard," said Lex, when he was capable of speech. "If I'd wanted to play games -- "

"Just giving you a little -- encouragement -- to get to where we're going."

Lex considered the pros and cons of shoving someone out of a speeding car as he tried to adjust his clothing with one hand on the wheel. He felt empty.

"This might be a little easier if I knew where 'there' actually was," he pointed out. He found himself disliking Lindsey quite intensely at the moment, pretty mouth and talented tongue notwithstanding. But not nearly as much as he disliked himself.

"Not long now," said Lindsey, sounding far too pleased with himself. Fucker.

* * * 

Lindsey had to admit that the motel was -- well, not exactly The Hyperion. Hell, it made Bates' Motel look pretty good, but it answered his needs for the moment. When Luthor screeched to a predictably theatrical stop, Lindsey opened the door and swung his legs off the soft leather upholstery of the Jag in one smooth motion, then crossed the parking lot and dug around in his pocket for the room key without once looking back. He grinned at the sound of the kid's overpriced shoes hitting the gravel, followed a heartbeat later by the slam of the car door behind him and the electronic trill of the lock.

"Well, this is -- homey," said Lex, pausing on the threshold and taking in the dingy glory of the room with his head tilted appraisingly.

"Isn't it?" Lindsey glanced around at the faded wallpaper and 70s furnishings and then smiled back at the kid, a slow-burning smile that wasn't especially friendly but was all kinds of intimate. "Don't tell me you need an invitation?"

From the look on the kid's face Lindsey reckoned he'd never met a vampire. Not that a vamp would need an invitation to enter a place like this. He remembered a time when he hadn't known things like this, and when the Gideon's Bible by the bed wouldn't have been on a mental checklist of potential weapons. Difficult to shrug off these patterns of thought, once they'd been instilled.

The door closed quietly and Lex Luthor stood quite still, taking in his surroundings. Lindsey saw him glance at the guitar case and the pile of CDs and lift an eyebrow at the dog-eared copy of The National Law Journal. He was breathing a little too quickly and his shoulders were tense, but he retained an expression of detached calm. Lindsey wondered, with sour amusement, whether Lionel's son was expecting to get mugged; he looked thoroughly ill at ease to Lindsey's practised eye, however hard he tried to mask it with nonchalance. He was out of his element. Lindsey knew that feeling and took a small, unkind pleasure in witnessing the kid's discomfort.

"I think that's enough small talk, don't you?" he asked pointedly, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he crossed towards the bed. Somewhere a door opened and a burst of hopelessly romantic music sang out into the air, carrying clearly through the thin walls into the room. Behind him Lex Luthor gave a broken laugh; a small, choked sound that had very little humour in it.

* * * 

He crossed the room in a couple of strides, and when Lindsey turned towards him Lex dropped smoothly down to his knees and began unfastening the man's jeans with brisk efficiency. Fuck Clark anyway. Clark had lied to him about the Porsche, even though Lex knew that his own memories made no sense. And what had happened today made the same kind of no-sense, and Clark was lying to him still. Lindsey's cock was half-way hard when Lex freed it from an incongruously expensive pair of briefs and licked a wet pattern across the tip. He heard a welcome hiss of indrawn breath above him and Lindsey's hand came down to cup the smooth skin of his skull.

"Fuck, yes," said Lindsey with feeling, as Lex dragged the denim down to bunch between his thighs and devoted his entire attention to getting Lindsey hard. Slick slide of hard tongue over unsteady flesh, painting quick designs over the shaft and closing lips over the head in a wet and sucking kiss that pulled Lindsey inside inch by inch, while his fingers concentrated on the silken skin of Lindsey's balls and slipped behind them to find the prostate, provoking shudders and a wordless groan. Lex knew that he was very good at this; he never did things by halves. Above him Lindsey's breath grew ragged and his hips found a rhythm to match the liquid pressure of Lex's tongue. Lex loved this feeling of sullied power; loved the knowledge that another man's desperate goal was his to grant or to refuse.

When he judged the other man was on the brink of spending, Lex pulled back and rested on his haunches, ducking his head away from Lindsey's clutching hand. He looked up with his head angled slightly to one side and did nothing about the saliva smeared gracelessly over his chin. Lindsey shivered and his pretty eyes were glazed as he stared blankly down at Lex.

"Oh, fuck this -- I -- Christ, just don't stop."

Lex wrapped his fingers around the swollen flesh and smiled.

"Ask me nicely," he said, his voice low-pitched and smooth, savouring the control. His thumb circled the leaking slit and tugged the skin almost roughly. Lindsey's pupils dilated further and the words spilled out so willingly it sent a shiver down Lex's spine.

"Please. Oh, fuck -- please."

Lex leaned in and took the hot flesh into his mouth once more and, prompted by a spark of malice, pulled his cushioning lips back far enough to let his teeth graze the tender skin of Lindsey's shaft. Lindsey's response was -- unexpected. Enthusiastic, in fact. He closed both hands convulsively over Lex's naked head and let out a muffled yell that might have been a name as Lindsey slammed into Lex's mouth with bruising force and came down his open throat.

* * * 

This wasn't going quite the way Lindsey had intended, but when Luthor's mouth found his cock all those higher brain functions went out the window. Sweet baby Jesus. In the unlikely event that he ever went bankrupt, Lex Luthor would be able to earn himself some pretty serious money as a rent boy. Lindsey had absolutely not expected the kid to go down on him so very, very well. He felt like his IQ had just dropped 50 points, and there was no getting away from the fact that Little Lord Fauntleroy here was running the show.

And -- teeth. Dear God. Lindsey faintly remembered a time when he hadn't had so many kinks, but it was in a dim and distant past when he had also believed in truth and justice, and when he'd had no idea that there really were monsters under the bed. And monsters lurking in car parks and pacing around in boardrooms, for that matter. He didn't particularly want to think about how many of his current fetishes were directly related to the undead.

He sat down on the bed and watched Lex Luthor rise to his expensively shod feet with a fluid motion and a very smug expression. Notwithstanding all his original intentions, Lindsey was sorely tempted to just collapse on the bed and go to sleep. Leaving Lex Luthor unsatisfied would be a satisfaction in itself.

"Don't tell me that's all you can take?" asked Lex, studying him with amusement. "I realise that you're getting on in years, but you can't be more than, what, thirty? Thirty five?"

Lindsey snorted, perfectly balanced between laughter and outrage.

"Fuck you, you snot-nosed little -- I'm twenty seven. And I have stamina coming out my goddamn ears." He damned well ought to have by this point; years of getting by on a couple hours of sleep per night and living on caffeine and adrenaline in the employ of Wolfram and Hart taught a person a thing or two about endurance. Although admittedly his actual sex life had taken quite a nose dive while he was with the firm, because there were only so many hours in the day.

"Really?" Lex lifted one eloquent eyebrow and glanced at Lindsey's limp cock. If sheer pride and willpower could have sufficed to reanimate his spent flesh, Lindsey's prick would have been springing to attention at this point; but unfortunately it would take a little while. He tucked it back into his pants and stared insolently back.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked. Lex smiled. Oh, you fucker, thought Lindsey, aware that he was getting his buttons pushed but entirely unable to quash his competitive impulses even now. He yanked off his flannel shirt like he was proving something. Lindsey knew that the tight white T shirt underneath it looked good on him; he'd always made time to work out in LA and he'd done enough physical labour since leaving the City of Angels to keep firm. He waited a beat and then pulled the T shirt over his head.

Thirty five. Bastard.

Lex still wore that damned annoying half-smile and Lindsey wasn't about to stand for any more of this whole aura-of-detachment bullshit. He rose to his feet, jeans hanging loose on his sharply defined hips, and closed one hand over Lex's shoulder and the other over the nape of his naked neck to pull the kid in for a devouring kiss. Lex kissed him right back, but there wasn't anything like the sense of surrender that Lindsey remembered from the bar. He promised himself that he'd make Lex Luthor lose the precious pretence of self-control again if it damned well killed him.

Lindsey considered matters as he explored the boy's mouth. He ran curious fingers over Lex's shoulders and down across the arms that hung carelessly at his sides while Lindsey bent into the kiss. Still wearing the driving gloves. Lindsey closed his fingers around the wrists, circling the skin the way Angel's scar circled his own borrowed flesh, and felt Lex tense just a fraction under his touch.

Interesting.

He squeezed harder, and Lex shifted in the tight grasp, pulling his arms away testingly; and when Lindsey's grip yielded not at all, Lex moaned against his tongue. It was the faintest of involuntary sounds and Lindsey felt it more than heard it, but it was enough to give him ideas.

He wrapped his arms around Lex's waist, carrying the trapped hands back and pinning them together above the curve of the kid's ass; and he was rewarded by a kiss of pure, burning urgency and the unmistakable rise of the erection against his belly as Lex Luthor suddenly cleaved to him like he was the only piece of driftwood in an icy sea.

So.

Lindsey could work with this. The skewed sense of familiarity left him slightly off-balance; but this, after all, was what he'd wanted from the minute he'd set eyes on the kid. All that wealth and privilege and ease and arrogance had made Lindsey want to find the soft underbelly and bite down hard, because Lex Luthor was only human, and Lindsey didn't take this kind of shit from humans. He pulled Lex closer to him ungently, his hands locked like makeshift cuffs around the narrow wrists; and the pressure of ardent young muscles and eager young cock bucking into him through all that expensive fabric was irresistible.

When he pulled his head back, he saw Lex's face was dazed and open in a way that it hadn't been at any point since they reached the motel. Raw. Vulnerable. And that was more goddamned like it.

Lindsey let go of the kid's wrists in one sharp motion and stepped away from him, watching him sway slightly in his sudden and splendid isolation. The shift in power in the room was palpable. Intoxicating. He tried to remember when power games had become an end in themselves rather than simply being the means to get promotion, money, sex. Perhaps it had always been that way, but he thought it was one of the less visible scars he'd picked up at Wolfram and Hart.

"Get undressed," he said harshly, and Lex had the unstructured grey sweater over his head and on the floor in a heartbeat. Lindsey watched him unbutton the pants with unsteady fingers, then shrug down the fabric and step out of them altogether. It was difficult to look imposing in lilac socks and grey boxer briefs, especially with a very visible erection, but the kid wasn't at all embarrassed about his body. Which was understandable. It wasn't a body to be embarrassed about. "Everything," prompted Lindsey, unsmiling, and the cadence of his voice sent a visible shiver through the poor little rich boy standing half-naked before his bed. Lex peeled away the last remnants of clothing very quickly and Lindsey was interested to see that the baldness was pretty much an all-over thing. He tugged the belt from the frayed denim loops at his waist and watched Lex's body react to the soft slither of the leather sliding free. The naked expression of need that crossed his face when he saw the belt being laced into ad hoc cuffs said everything that needed to be said. "Turn around." And Lindsey thought he could grow drunk on nothing more than this. He stepped closer and trailed one formerly evil fingertip from the nape of the kid's neck down to the curve of his ass, then leaned closer and licked the skin behind his ear. "Put your hands behind your back for me." Wonderful how quick Lex Luthor was to comply, how he couldn't quite stifle a moan when Lindsey wrapped the warm leather around his wrists and pulled the buckle tight.

* * * 

Face down on the scratchy covers in a cheap motel, naked, hands bound behind his back and a complete stranger standing behind him, who might by an axe murderer for all he knew -- and this shouldn't feel so good. He was harder than he'd been in weeks. The shrinks Lionel had sent him to after his mother's death would have a dozen theories on this. If he felt like it Lex could probably come up with a few theories of his own, but right now he didn't want to think. Not about who he was, or where he was going, or the shifting boundaries of his relationship with Lionel, or about his relationship with Clark.

Clark. Jesus. The thought of having Clark like this sent a surge of pure wanting through him: that impossibly perfect body spread out on his sheets, clean dark hair falling across his unlined forehead, sun-licked muscles flexing helplessly under him. The things he wanted to do to Clark -- things that made his gut clench when he spoke to Martha Kent. Christ. But he was playing nice.

What was keeping him? Lex entertained the perfectly real possibility that Lindsey McDonald was just fucking with his head, and was going to steal the Jag and leave him here trussed up and naked. That should probably worry him more than it did.

Hands closed around his ankles, pulling his legs further apart and pinning him to the covers. Lex gasped into the thin pillow and closed his eyes. The tongue licking his instep could have been anybody's. Could have been Clark's. He bit back a moan. Hands everywhere, and the wet slide of an open mouth over his skin was oddly pure and impersonal. Perfect. When teeth closed hard over his calf he heard himself make a desperate sound low in his throat. The covers rasped against the delicate skin of his nipples and his leaking cock. Anonymous fingertips traversed his flesh, testing responses with something like scientific curiosity and continuing, intolerably, to ignore his erection; until at last Lex began to thrash clumsily under the inadequate touch, unable to get a proper purchase with his wrists restrained. He was brought up short by an open-handed slap stinging his ass, and he lay still, unable to hear anything over the dull roar of his own pulse and his ragged breathing.

"Not until I tell you to," said Lindsey McDonald, who was suddenly, achingly, not touching any part of him at all. The sense of isolation was scorching -- and painfully familiar. Lex froze and willed the other man to touch him. After an interminable moment he was rewarded by a sucking kiss on his shoulder, teeth almost breaking the skin, and then hands were everywhere once again. Lindsey's cheek rubbed against his upper arm, stubble scratching the skin, and he licked a trail down to the inside of Lex's elbow and then on towards his tethered wrists.

Lips closed over Lex's fingers, and the jolt of wet suction made him gasp, suddenly caught in the vivid sense memory of this same mouth wrapped around his cock. Lex realised that he might actually come from nothing more than this, without ever being touched. Like some fucking teenager. Like -- ah, Christ. Like Clark. Like Clark probably would.

Freefall.

When Lindsey pulled away this time it was only for a moment, and as Lex gasped into the pillow he heard a tiny, familiar sound but couldn't begin to identify it until hands closed over his sharp hips and he felt the shock of leather. Lindsey was wearing his driving gloves. Lex's back arched involuntarily with the realisation, and then Lindsey was shoving him further up the bed and the covers were grazing the sensitised skin of his cock unbearably -- and this was too much, too much and still not nearly enough. Lex could hear somebody sobbing and he thought it might be him. Gloved hands pushed his thighs further apart and parted lips traced the curve from the base of his spine down towards the tight pucker between his splayed cheeks; and when the wet tongue wormed its way inside him and a gloved hand simultaneously closed over his sticky cock and began to jack him off, Lex let go of all the eddying thoughts teeming in his skull and writhed and thrashed and yelled incoherently, until he finally forgot his own name and lost everything in the pure release of being nothing more than flesh.

Lex woke up with sunlight on his face and hot skin pressed up against his back. It took him a moment to place where and when he was, but as mornings after the night before went, this was certainly one of the more enjoyable ones. He hadn't intended to stay the night, but somehow leaving had seemed like too much effort. It was just convenience. It wasn't that he needed somebody to hold him.

Soon there would be the dubious delights of the motel's shower to brave, and then the seediness of donning yesterday's clothes. Then the long drive back to Smallville, alone, with the morning sun glaring through the glass and making him squint and wish he'd thought to bring sunglasses. And then, of course -- once he'd been home and gotten changed into something less comfortable -- there would be all the mess to deal with at work. More reporters to be charmed and distracted, damages to be assessed, medical bills to be looked at, and then the headache of trying to establish what other vast secrets Smallville was hiding from him, if it could deceive him about his own Plant.

Maybe after work he could swing by The Beanery. Not on the off chance of meeting Clark, of course. Not at all. Lex certainly wasn't hung up on a strapping great fifteen-year-old kid with a martyr complex and unguessable secrets held behind the sweetest and most corruptible smile he had ever seen. He just liked the coffee, and liked cultivating his man-of-the-people role.

Yeah. Right. Lex sighed.

He knew that the arm thrown over his hip and the fingers curled against his belly meant nothing more than an accident of place and time and interlocking need and inclination. Lindsey McDonald would wake soon, and this uncomplicated intimacy would become two strangers glancing at each other uncertainly from behind shuttered eyes; but there was no harm in enjoying this grace note in the space between.

Lex leaned back and relaxed into Lindsey's sleeping embrace for as long as it might last.


End file.
